The Collection

by smakleapp

Rating: mature
Tags: Adventure, Profanity, Violence, Dark, Death, Alternate Universe, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Octavia, Horror
Length: 10203

The world is destroyed, overrun by Tartarus and evil. Octavia is one of the last living ponies in this decrepit world, where she loses her mind in this new ruined world.

Equestria is burned from the fires of Tartarus, and the world is destroyed. Octavia is the last pony left, and all she can remember is her name is Octavia, and she lives in a theater

Published 2022-04-06 01:30:00 UTC
Last updated 2023-08-03 15:43:51 UTC

Beginning

My name is Octavia, and I live inside a theater.

The sky was its usual grey as I woke up from my peaceful slumber. My sleep was characterized by the black abyss I witness much these days. After a nice sleep, I woke up behind the curtain, eyes groggy and heavy. I pulled the rope further down to show the seats that stood before me.

They were truly beautiful. They held all of my trophies. Gold rings, toasters, microwaves, phones, hats, trophies, CDs, vinyls, paper towels, bracelets, necklaces, anything. Every seat in the front row was filled with all of my treasures.

I had the sudden urge to see myself. I never had a great look at myself and, my friends. I only see a faint reflection when I stare at a small water puddle. I would be smiling back up because I always smile. But I never remember.

I slowly exited the theater, as I passed my treasures. I know I already said this, but oh my! Were they beautiful!

I entered the gray city with a big smile. Trust me, friends, the city bore much fruit to help me with my increasing loneliness. When alone, I tend to go a bit mad. My Collection has saved me multiple times.

My hooves crunched the broken glass on the pavement, and I never failed to marvel at the beauty of the city's destruction. Oh, how I wish I could see it at a closer glance.

Well, my friends, my destination that was planned was a good deal away from the theater. Sometimes, I forget to bring things to ease my mind during these long walks. This was one of those days.

A loud ringing filled my ears as the Nation Clock chimed noon. I hadn’t realized I took this long to wake up, and I began to panic. That clock was one of the few things to keep its Sound. At least here in the North. When the Sound ended, I began to hurry my galloping speed.

Large billboards were unreadable, as were many of the shops littered around. I have already been through all of those my friends, don’t worry. As I went further south, the rubble got worse and more abundant. Bottles, glass, rocks. I had enough of all of those in My Collection. The one thing I couldn’t ever resist was shiny things. I don’t know when, but I developed an obsession with all things shiny and new. It’s just a habit. Those fancy items always made me excited and I could never have enough.

After a few moments, I made it to the Square. In its middle stood a small stand. Around it was burned greenery that never would grow back. Stores stood around the square, but they were not my territory.

A small green creature stood behind the stand, one eye larger than the other, and snot repeatedly running down its nose.

“Desond,” I called to the troll. Desond returned to me with a smile, teeth crooked and out of place.

“Ohhhh! Octavia! A pleasure, a pleasure! I assume I know what you are here for?”

I shook my head because he was wrong. “No no, not today. I wanted tips on going South.”

He became much more serious which frightened me because Desond was rarely serious. I would know. I see him a lot around these days.

“When did you decide to go there?”

I shrugged. “Just now. I forgot gold things for you, this is better now.”

He laughed a pretty raw laugh. “Gloria, did anyone ever tell ya ya talk weird?”

I shook my head. “No, not really. I haven’t met any others.”

“Right right…”

I took a step closer to his shack. He wasn’t answering me and I wanted an answer.

“Desond I know you came from the South so you know the best spots, right?”

He eyed me quizzically. “Octavia...ya ain’t carrying anything. Whatcha gonna do?”

Oh.

“Oh. Well, I forgot.”

He laughed harder now, rocking on his stool. I could see a large pile of trash behind him. He didn’t worry about stealers. A pistol laid on the table. Plus, everyone was very nice around here.

“If ya still want to go, I know a place where there is an infinite amount of supplies for ya little collection.”

Now I was interested.

“If ya follow down to Marion Street-ya know where that is, right?”

I nodded.

“Ok, well if you continue that path enough you’ll get to Holt Street in the south. Hilton Mall is huge. Ya can’t miss it. It’s neutral too, ya wont piss anypony off. Trust me, I couldn’t even grab everything. I think you should wait.”

I couldn't, so I knew the answer. “No, I need something to do. I can go there. Thanks.”

He winked and watched me as I walked down in the direction he told me. And as I walked, there was more sound, as fire was loud and ferocious. Burned bodies littered the street which startled me. In the North, there weren't as many bodies. More ponies like me. I just don’t see them much. I don’t know why, just don’t see them. But this place was full of death and I wasn’t sure if I liked it. And I realized I was paying more attention to death than where I was going, and my friends, I was lost.

But that’s ok. I knew nothing around me had mirrors, so going anywhere near me wasn’t an option. Sometimes I forget that I need to do something like I forgot I had to go South today. I didn’t know what street I was on though. Holt, he said? Well, I didn’t see that. All I saw was Marigold.

I knew I needed to turn back, and I was about to when I saw something. It was a store that was in amazing shape. It bore a weird bendy symbol that I thought looked familiar, and I thought I would take a look.

Music...I walked into the store. When I entered, I immediately saw a large piece of the ceiling above collapse down onto a…

“Ayyy! Get out! Ya don’t belong hear!” A troll-looking figure was trapped underneath a piece of the ceiling, blood pooled around her frame. She was very disgusting and I didn’t want to look. But my friends, she could have been hurt.

“Sorry miss, I need some things.”

She shook her head. “Fuckers like you come in and steal! Get the fuck out! Ya fucking cunt, what the fuck ya doing here? Get the fuck out!!!” She was being very rude to me, and when people shout at me, I can’t think.

“Miss, please, are there any mirrors?”

The small pea wouldn’t stop thrashing. “I eat cockroaches for stupid smurfs like you?”

“Miss, please, I-“

“Something is wrong with your head?”

“Miss, is there a mirror?”

“Back! Back! Get out of here!”

I hurried past her to the back, where it was filled with large instruments. Instruments that...what was that?

It was large, brown, slender, and unique. It called to me. And it had strings. Long springs over a large hole. What could come out of that hole? I wanted to know. Perhaps this was my treasure. Perhaps…

“A cello? For god sake a cello? Bitch, don’t touch my shit? Bring me a-“

As I turned to my left I saw a long long stick, which almost resembled a sword. And some hidden instinct took over me as I stuck it against the cello. And…

Sound. Beautiful Sound. Was this music? Was this what the sign outside said? I needed it. And I forget about the mirror now, because then I couldn’t carry this cello.

I began to walk out.

“HEY! STOP!”

I looked at the trapped troll. “PUT THAT SHIT BACK!”

No. I couldn’t do that, my friends. No, I needed it.

“Ya can't have that! Put it back! It’s mine ya bitch! Put it back!”

“No.”

“If this shit didn’t collapse, you’ll be dead, ya know that?.”

Why was there Sound?

“I won’t. Stop asking.”

“Then fucking kill me.”

“I can’t. I’ll get help.”

“Ya ain’t leaving honey. Give me my shit or fucking end me. Fucking tramp, ya can’t leave! It’s my goddamn store!”

She wouldn’t shut up friends. Why wouldn't she stop? I couldn’t and I wouldn’t. And the Sound was fuzzing up my brain. Oh, oh why can’t it think? I can’t think when things are too loud. She didn’t realize what death was. I couldn’t. Never letting me think. Why would she want to die? Would I mind? Would I? Fuck, let me think! You're yelling. You're yelling at me. Stop. You're confusing. Stop. Raise my cello, but stop screaming. Stop, it’s breaking, but nothing happened, no. Stop stop stop stop and as I walked out there I didn’t do anything. Nothing. It was empty and I didn’t do a goddamn thing. And I had nothing.

~

It took me a while to retrace my steps back to the theater. I had to go past the fire, burning in the vacant stores I dared not to go into. I didn’t want to see another...thing. I didn’t want to be yelled at. I somehow made it back to the square, where Desond was sitting, squatting on his tiny bench. He looked at me, his good eye analyzing what I hadn’t bought.

“Octavia? Wa happened? Wha ya find? Ya back so quickly!”

I didn’t feel like talking to Desond. “No, I didn’t. It was bad advice. Nothing was there.” He squinted at me.

“Da faq do ya mean? Where did you go?”

“I said nothing was there Desond. You were wrong. Bye, have a great day.” I quickly hurried off. His questions were annoying. I don’t know if I like him. I went down the street, and I barely remembered where my theater was. But I found it. It stood on a corner, beautiful red, huge. I went through the entrance, and I was so glad the gray was no longer there. I opened the doors to my home. I didn’t look at the treasures in the seats. I didn’t care at the moment. The curtain was still up. I forget. I forgot to look at my Notes.

That’s why this day was so bad. I didn’t read my Notes. I moved up on the stage, but past my bedroll. I wasn’t tired, or at least I didn’t remember being tired. I went to the back wall, where a small silver box sat. I forgot about the box. I need to write that down too now. I opened it, and inside were many pieces of paper. I needed that. I needed it all. I took the pieces out.

You need to eat

You like the theater

Bring something with you

Your name is Octavia

Everything is OK

You like the Sound

Your name is not Scratch

Your theater is on Maxin Street

Don't go far

Be ok

*You're happy.*

I took out all the pieces of paper in the box. At the bottom was one more piece of paper left. I grabbed the pencil that was also at the bottom. I played down on the wooden stage, my chest up against it. What did I need to write? I didn’t know. The box. Yes, I can't forget the box. Write the box, put it next to my bed, I see it, I remember. Did I play when I was younger? It wasn’t in the box. Why did I like that instrument so much? Was that in the box? Is all I am to eat and sleep and steal to get fucking treasure? What’s in the box? Is that me?

I knew what to write down.

I like the cello.

Author's Note

https://youtu.be/fzxag7U3Snk

As I Lay Dying

Sometimes I am afraid I will forget myself. That one day I will wake up and forget who I am, what I want, what my name is. Even now it slowly slips my mind. I have to remind myself I am Octavia. I don’t believe myself half the time, because maybe I have that name. Maybe I already forgot my real name. Maybe it was Daisy, or Heaven, or maybe even Rose. Maybe I was completely different and I just forgot. I don’t know, I wish I could remember. I’m afraid that what I know is a farce, it’s all fake. None of its real. I am a blip of life in the gap of the beginning and the end. Everything is real, and nothing means anything. All I know is what I know. I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’m dreaming.

It was a marvelous day, and as a result, I wanted to explore my territory more. I made off, early in the morning, and I was planning on heading deeper South. Deeper than I ever went before. I began to pack. I took a knapsack, ready to fill it to the brim with goodies. For safe measure, I brought along a flashlight, in case I stayed up too late.

And I was off.

The wind, my friends, was chilling, and I felt myself relaxing as I went down my street, as I passed all the familiar places. I did my best to ignore the death. I was lucky, I went out early. The Natio Clock had yet to go off. I was making good time.

I eventually came across a road I never heard before, Martian, and I turned left. It was new, and it scared me, but the prospect of seeing new treasures encouraged me to continue on.

There was nothing down this street but bodies and stores on fire, nothing I could have searched through. The ashes polluted my nostrils, and I felt the need to sneeze. I reared back, and did such, and when I opened my eyes, something was at the end of the block. It was small, resembling such a small child, and my entire spine shuddered. And then it walked away. Left, down another street. Another pony. One like me. One I need.

“Little girl!” Too late. She was gone.

I followed her and my knapsack jiggled and I heard sounds of moving, but I turned left, I didn’t read the street name, and it was empty, no little filly.

My eye caught something. Light. And so I moved toward it, sticking with my hope of treasure and the light, and eventually I saw it was a sign. The sign said Pub in large neon green letters. I didn’t know what a pub was, and I was rather curious. And so I entered the pub.

The building was small, wooden, and ancient. It smelled of something strong, and as I opened the peeled white doors in the front, the smell only grew stronger. The inside was shocking to me, it was all new. It looked almost as if it was a restaurant, but I had been to too many of those and this looked nothing like that. A smell rose throughout the dusty air, and the fur stood up on my neck. Must be from the smell. I began to cautiously walk forward, each hoofstep cautiously taken. This was uncharted waters my friends. I looked at the empty tables, the empty chairs, and took a large gulp. I realized I was sweating.

To the left, there was a long…what does one call it? It was long, as long as a booth, but I had the idea it wasn't made for sitting. Perhaps, perhaps it was made as a table. Something was on this rather large table, a bottle. Glass. Sunlight filtered in, and I could see it was filled halfway with clear liquid.

Water.

Oh, let me tell you my friends how delighted I was! Water was scarce to come by, and usually had to haggle with Desond for a full tin cups worth. But this was perfect. Ripe for the taking.

I wanted to hold off, my friends. I wanted to bring it back, conserve it, make it last. But my throat was rather parched, and I had the chills, still, and water made me feel better. Despite the small amount of the dust in the water, it was generally clean. And so, with a big smile, I dropped my bag, picked up an overturned stool, and sat. I grabbed the bottle and oh my the fucking stench.

It smelled distastefully strong, as if it had been fermenting. My nose wrinkled in disgust, and I thought I was going to vomit. I felt myself wobble on the stool, and I almost fell off until I righted myself. Dust grew thicker.

I wanted to leave, throw the bottle away. My friends, I was disgusted, but still thirsty. It grew into a craving, grew from a small urge. Suddenly, I was glued to the seat, and my mind was clean for all but thirst. All but the drink. I needed to. For whatever reason, my friends, I needed it.

And so, with bated breath, I took the bottle, and made an effort not whif it. I brought the warm glass to my lips, and I let a touch of the liquid touch my lips, and eventually, I granted it permission into my mouth.

It had little taste at first, as all water should be. But as I swallowed, and it traveled down, it burned, and I was not expecting this. It burned me, made me feel warm, and it was unlike anything I ever felt. It was hugging me, it made me feel so loved as it emptied into my stomach. Things seemed less scary, and the prickling of my fur began to dissipate. Maybe, maybe this water was special. Maybe, it helped.

I finished swallowing, making a harmless grimace at the burn. It felt…

It felt like too much time had passed before I knew it. My next thought came to me sometime later, as I was no longer on the stool, but on my back, on the floor, staring up at the wooden ceiling, realizing just then there was a fan. A wooden one. Or maybe it was metal. Brown metal. I’m not sure. I do not know if metal can look like wood, but I was sure wood could in fact look like wood, so maybe, most likely, it was metal.

I did not know what happened to the glass. Perhaps, I drank all of the water. I wondered where I was. Wait. The Pub. Whoops.

Yes.

But maybe…

I don’t know what I’m thinking, each thought is a cutoff sentence-

Everything…

It feels like my head is on a pillow, a warm pillow-

Bleeds…

I wondered if I could have touched my nose with my bottom hoof.

Something…

It was cooler now, or hotter, it was hard to tell. I knew it wasn’t normal, the temperature. It felt off. It felt, wait. Wait a minute, now it's cold. Ok so it is definitely cold. I know something!

Something…

My tongue is hanging out of my mouth. My tongue hangs from my mouth. My tongue, my mouth, hanging, outside, hanging. Get in there you.

There…

I think it’s cool how everything lives together. Together. As I stared at the ceiling, the metal fan, I wondered, how did things get so good. I liked lying here, I like water. I liked living, even though my life is surrounded by those who lost it. I’m lucky. I don’t grieve. I have nopony to remember to grieve for. I have nothing to cry over except a lost treasure. I sit. I am the present.

Something there…

Wind, inside? It’s dark, the Nation Clock, it most likely struck already, it most likely went, it most likely went on, it most likely struck already.

Is…

How long? How long? How long? Been here? I drank so quickly, oh no, my stomach. I don't know how I am, I don’t know myself. It is all good my friends, I am not alone. I got myself. Myself. Myself is with me. Hello Myself. Myself stares at me from the ceiling. Hello Myself. Doesn’t change. Hi. Nothing. Say something but it does not, Myself does not at the top of the ceiling no it stares and leaves and it is staring no longer. It is staring no longer. It is staring no longer and yet…

Something is there watching me.

My head turns toward the entrance, and through the windows, I see the little girl. It is dark, it is night, and I am sleepy, but her figure is there. Her white ghostly white figure. It’s in a haze but she stood there, in the window, staring at me. I try to smile. She should not be afraid. I just had water, that's all. But she stares, and my haze dissipates slowly. And I see her.

Slowly, she comes more into focus. A little bow in her hair. A smile, a smile on her face. A smile on half of her face.

It was droopy, it was sick. It was sad as her face was gone except for the half. And she smiled at me with her half, and I felt so bad. I mouthed to her.

Hello.

She mouthed back to me. You are not scared.

Strangely, I was not. No, are you ok?

Shook her head. You can see me?

Yes.

You can see me?

Yes, are you ok? Are you ok? Do you need help?

Can you see me?

Yes, I said I could.

Can you see them?

“What?”

She pointed with ghostly white behind me and I looked.

Ghostly white ponies stood around me. Their faces were ruined, bodies maimed, minds destroyed. They were all staring at me, all white, and a scream lodged itself in my throat. I shouldn’t be scared, I told myself. But they stared. Fifty, no, one hundred, no, one thousand, no, I could not count. They all stared at me, all of them.

A stallion stood at the front, his face a mere skeleton, fragments of his eye clinging on his socket. His right hoof was mangled, bone peeking, skin twisted. I saw a headless body, and dotted with dried white blood. One was missing an eye. One was smiling at me, and I could see she had no tongue.

A stallion stepped forward, as I was now cowering against the table, shaking. I saw him come forward, a noose around his neck. It was puffy, swollen, I could see the pain. I could see everything. They started crying, and I tried to turn to see the girl, but I could no longer view her. My vision was blocked by the dead.

The hanged stallion spoke, which got my attention. I whipped around to see him open his mouth, and his bottom jaw fell out, and I saw sinews reach out, trying depretly to hold on to the piece. It failed, it fell to the bottom with no sound.

“Would you remember us?”

A scream, still there, would not come out. He came closer now, and I could almost smell the death.

“Would you remember?” he said with no jaw. And I could not answer him, I could not, and I winced, and I began to cry, and I was afraid.

“WOULD YOU REMEMBER???????” he yelled, and finally I screamed.

~

Ponies say it fades to black. For me, it was a jump cut.

I screamed, hoofs defending my face, when I opened my eyes a minute later. My friends, the room was empty. I gazed at the window. The girl was not there.

I looked to the left. The bottle, yes, empty, a small puddle at the cap. I tiredley hit it away. Never again.

To my right, a knapsack, my knapsack. Something I owned. I opened it up, and pulled out items. I took out a small toy monkey, a ballpoint pen, and my flashlight. I kept it and returned the other two. It was still dark and I hated being out in the dark. I did not want to sleep here though. I did not want to see them again.

I walked out steadily, my head pounding, my tongue feeling fat in my mouth. I felt so groggy, I felt sdo defeated. As I walked down the street, I shone my flashlight to try and jog my memory. Eventually I found my way back to my theater. I brought nothing, no glass, no mirror, no nothing.

As I trotted home, I made sure not to shine the light on the bodies.

He Said He Saw Heaven

My existence is a question mark. It is something I do not understand, cannot comprehend. Every day I wonder about its meaning and I wonder if there is any meaning left at all. If it was all destroyed or if there was nothing in the first place to destroy. But I exist and to me, that’s enough because to be is simply better than to not be. And I feel there is something waiting for me. Maybe it’s my light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe, maybe it’s my meaning.

I asked Desond for the Sound the other day. I won’t anymore. He did not know what I meant, he didn’t understand, and I felt embarrassed. He wanted clarification, my friends, but I assumed he had nothing of the Sound and I wanted my secret obsession to stay a secret, so I held off my questions. I also never asked him about the cello.

I played Rock today. There was a big one, and I wanted to see how many times I had to kick it against the wall until it would break. Seventy-three. Seventy-three times.

I played with my ball after that, a rubber ball I don't remember where I got it from. That wouldn’t break, but it bounced, and I thought that was pretty cool. I liked it a lot actually, and I will call it: Playing Ball.

I went to write it down but I ran out of post-its. That’s not good, my friends.

I asked Desond, but he ran all out of them. He told me his guy disappeared. I didn’t care about this and I was angry at him for changing the subject. He said there is something called a post office out West and I should go there but be careful. I said ok.

He was sick. It was clear. His green body had gray in it, his hair was fading, his skin appeared older and wrinkled. His large nose looked crumbly. I asked him about this and he said not to worry.

He told me to be careful one last time and gave me exact directions. Something about Furrows and Decker. Then I was off.

I thankfully did have my bag with me, but it did not have much. A small metal pipe I wanted to bring because it looked cool, a can of beans I saved for a while, and a coloring book. I had nothing to color it in with, so I just looked at the pictures.

In every photo there was a large mare with a flowing mane that smiled. There must have been around fifty photos in that book, and they were all populated with the large mare. There were words below every photo.

“Princess Celestia loves all the children”

That was underneath a photo of the large mare, Maybe Celestia, looking over little ponies who were smiling. I noticed they all had something on their flanks, and this confused me. I did not know what that was. A sun on Maybe Celestia, a watch on one of the children; another one had a yo-yo.

I made sure I was going the right way, and when I made sure I was, I made a left and flipped through some more pages. I saw more photos, more drawings, and I was impressed. I was confused. I needed to ask Desond what those images were.

Another drawing had Maybe Celestia staring straight outward, smiling.

Celestia Loves You!

I smiled. She smiled. We both smiled. I smiled through the gray air, I smelled ashes, I smelled smoke. I smiled at her, she smiled back up at me, and I wanted to color her in with anything but gray and orange and black. I wanted to make her green and blue and yellow, colors I knew existed, I knew were once used because of my faded antiques. But I wished to see them brighter for Celestia, to make her beautiful and ask why the sun is on her back and why it was gone and why I can barely see it through the thick gray fog. No answer. No answer. Silence.

I saw I was there. It had a sign in the window—Canterlot Mail Service. A pony smiling, with a letter in her hoof. I went in.

The walls were a faded blue, and the room smelled like burning paper. In the corner a fire raged. It was unpleasant. A counter stood to the side, and behind that I saw drawers. Drawers with possibly many things I needed. So I made my way away from the fire, careful, jumping over the counter. Blue was the place. Faded blue. It was always faded blue.

I opened the drawers and I experienced a range of emotions, my friends. I saw paper, and I was joyus, but it was filled with writing, and I was sad. All the drawers were the same, filled with papers, papers filled with words, words filled with meaning. It was too much, so I stopped. Just then, I know it’s silly, I saw letters strewed out across the marble floor, white. They blended in. I picked one up, one more manilla than the others. It had no stamp or address or nothing. I knew of stamps because I collected many.

Inside was an index card.

To remind you of Her, to cease your worries, to put your troubles aside. Remember, She is there, and She is You. Remember Her Words.

I am The Lamb To Feast Upon
I am The Center For All
I am The Equilibrium
I am Your Sun

Rejoice, be glad. Rejoice, sing. Rejoice.

I understood none of it, the writing was still too small to comprehend. But I decided to collect it, and I slipped it in my knapsack.

I saw pens and pencils and I picked them up, I saw post-it’s, and I picked them up. I was happy now. Desond was right.

I hopped over the counter, and made my way out when I heard a whoosh from behind. I turned around my friends, and I saw a door that was hidden in the back open a notch. I did not even notice it there before, my friends, and I thought maybe it magically appeared, but then again magic no longer existed. It was a fable. And so I must have missed it, but it was a solid door of white, solid, large. Metal it seemed, and I wondered how it opened. Surely a gust of wind was not strong enough my friends. And so I was interested, interested in the dark space behind the door, and so I carefully, cautiously, began to creep my way toward the sturdy door. I finally arrived, I pulled it back slowly, and I was greeted with a wooden staircase that led down into a dark abyss. I heard wind down there, whoosing. Something was moving, a draft. Now my interest was piqued. I already experienced such a great haul, and my ambition got the best of me. So, with a deep breath, and with a confident grab of my knapsack, I went down.

The smell, my friends. The smells were so strong I thought I might puke. Oh no, my friends, simply: oh no. Dusty and moldy, but yet my hooves were driven forward. The dark became a blanket, I felt enclosed in it’s grasp. Rickety were the steps, creaking in pain as I stepped. My eyes were worth nothing. I felt my mind warped. I heard the wind now and it was saying something I could not make out. It sounded scared.

It was cool, and my hooves pressed down on hard concrete, cold, and it shocked me and my body, and the wind now was terrible. It hurt my ears. It screamed. I couldn’t find the steps. I felt myself falling from the cold and wind, the wind with no temperature, bringing neither heat nor cold, bringing talk, bringing pain and paranoia. Why was I here? I regretted it as it became an orchestra of noise, something unreal, something out of this world. I fell, I fell and my hoof reached out for something and landed on string and it was pulled. A light was switched as I hit the dusty floor.

How quick my ambition was squandered, how quick. I wanted nothing more than to flee, and with the light, surley I would be able. But as I hurriedly pushed myself up, the wind ceased. Stopped. And I looked around and saw that it was an unfinished basement, and the light casted white on all. It casted itself on boxes, cardboard, metal shelves both rusty and old. It smelled.

I glanced at a corner, to my right, where the light shined on the least. Something was there, something large, something slender. Something with legs. I saw it reaching out, I saw limbs, skinny yet long, reaching over the corner wall. I froze. The giant spider was hanging on the wall.

I felt wind again, but this time it was centered. It was focused. And because of it, I could hear it.

“The pocket locket, who came? Who came to see, with me and my pocket locket. You heard?”

A whisper, coarse and rash. I wished to say something, but I could not.

“Yickitty yam, do you see me? You see me? You see? Flee!”

I couldn't.

“Run for thee yickitty yams, run for the hills, run, my fellow, for a pocket locket, Ms. Pocket Locket indeed.”

I saw the spider twitch. It jutted out from the corner as if it was in front of something. The wind read my thoughts.

“Run for thee yickity yams, run, for ye beesmerch me with ye, run for nothing hides beneath.”

“I am not convinced.” I do not know why those were the first words I spoke.

The wind seemed offended. “I have seen ye, what ye? What ye? Come from the Yickitty Yams?”

“I do not know where that is.”

“Liar. Ye must have seen those yickitty yams, white hills, no?”

I gave no answer.

“Ye want, ye want me? Or what lies beneath or behind? Ye understand?”

“No.”

“Ye no understand? Tis for me, what nature. What nature art thee? Thee come here for me? Who told yeee? Tis treasure for me.”

My ears perked. “Treasure?”

The wind screamed. “FOR ME, NOT FOR YE!” The spider hunched, and I saw it clearer now it moved into the light. Those legs were metal, glistening with silver. It had a long black body that did indeed hide something underneath. It was large, maybe as such a closet, but the light hit off the front and it reflected.

“Naw, ye leave.”

“I heard you from upstairs.”

The voice was calmer, but unsteady. It wanted me to leave.

“Talking to me yeself, ye. Where ye from? Ye know me? Thou understand my danger? Run for thee yickity yams.”

I think it thought I was something else. “I don’t know what you are. I am sorry.”

The wind took offense. “They call moi la Skinner, the Skinner. Flesh is me passion, ye understand. Ye know. So leave me be, leave me bee for ye skin.”

I was petrified in my stance, after this statement. It would take my flesh, it wanted to. If I turned, I was afraid I would be attacked. It was cold, I felt the tension. It was easy to discern. It would not let me leave.

“I have no skin.”

“No skin, no skin for moi? Ye levee with no skin, ye exist? Liar.”

“No.”

“Nothing for ye here, ye leave.”

I slowly slipped my knapsack off.

“Ye have skin, ye lie to me. I should kill ye.”

I said nothing. I felt something cold and metal and I knew it was the pole. I gingerly took it out.

“I speak. Moi speak and ye shall listen. Turn and leave now and I won't kill ye, ye understand? Understand moi dialect?”

I knew it was lying from the cold, from the wind and the way it leered at me, it nipped at me. Even if I backed away I was sure it would follow after me. I thought about it’s name, the Skinner. It sounded boastful, prideful.

“You are the real Skinner?”

“Of course I am. Ya thinck moi lie? I no lie like ye.”

“I have heard legends of the Skinner.” I have not.

Again, the air tensed and the spider in the corner eased. The pipe hung in my right hoof,barely off the ground, hiding it from the monster.

“Ye should have. Moi was deadly. Ye heard me origin?”

“I don’t recall.”

“I was cast away, ye I was, true that. Cast after a foul pickett by la Princess. She mad at meh for simply pacifying meself. Ye know?”

“Yes.”

“All must pacify ourselves somehow, don't ya reckon? I reckon so. I do.”

“I see.”

It did not stop. “I would hunt these pony folks, hunt em, and skin em, hang em on my wall. I was no bother to nopony. But no matter, moi was cast. Cast with no sight. Ya see, my tarturus friend, cast away.”

“Right.”

The wind continued. “Ye know, I was mighty suspicious of ye, thought you were out to steal me treasure. Knowledge goes well. I’ll be making ye a deal.”

My back stiffened. “What kind of deal?”

I was sure if it had a face, the spider would have smiled. “Ye give me that backpack, no problem. No problemo. Righteous time, ye here? Ye told?”

I knew it would seal my doom, but I could not do that. In this world, all a mare can have is her possessions. What they own and found, what they identified with. No children or cousins or friends, only your items that represent you. Currency was for giving, items were for trading. But to give one up…giving away a possession would mean giving away your soul. So I could not say yes, my friends. I simply could not. And now I knew the next course of action.

“I cannot do that, and I will be off. Please let me go.”

Before the wind could pick up again, I turned around, and the fur on my neck stood up. The wind growled, and I heard metal scraping, and I knew it was in flight, whoosing. Closing my eyes, because I was oh so afraid, my friends. I turned around and swung, and whiffed air. A second didn’t go by before I felt myself tackled to the ground. As I fell I swung the pole again and the sound of metal against metal filled the air. There was nothing musical about it; it was unpleasant. I opened my eyes now and I had trouble seeing. It was on me, black body hovering, no face, no nothing, just black shape. Its rods placed around me. One raised.

"ETIS MINE ETIS MINE ETIS MINE!” fdfproicsnhcspscpjaddpjdjopadpojad

I dropped my pipe, I looked up and I saw it was behind my head. The wind kept screaming, and I reached out a hoof and grabbed hold of the pipe. I turned around and I heard a whoosh and I saw red. The metal leg stabbed into my right eye, and before the pain could fully register, before I could hear it threatening to skin me alive and boil it and eat it and to kill everything I ever knew, I shoved the pole upwards. I felt it squeeze into the body with a squish sound. I felt it writhe on the pole. Now the pain kicked in, and I was pushing upwards as I felt my eye bleeding, I felt it giving way. It screeched, the monster itself screeched, an agonizing sound, piercing my ears, and I screeched back. I yelled “this is what you fucking get!” I felt liquid splash onto me, and I heard it curse me, and I felt it get slower and slower with it's movements. The liquid burned, it felt like tar. Tears or blood ran down my eye.

I gasped for breath, and the liquid I knew nothing about seeped into my mouth. It mixed with the blood and my mouth was full of the taste of pesticide. I spat it out and I squealed for help, but I did not need it anymore. As my eye screeched with pain of a million suns, the spider stopped moving. It's final words were hard to distinguish. It sounded as if it said to enjoy it's curse. And I tossed it aside, and once I did so, I immediately began clutching my right eye.

It was wet to the touch, and my voice echoed throughout the post station. I vaguely remembered Desond warning me not to scream. Some would come, not to help. But it didn't matter to me, I needed to scream. I had to. It was all I wanted to do, was to scream and scream until my throat was sore, until saliva mixed with blood.

I could squish my closed eye socket, it almost sucked my hoof in. I knew then my eye was gone, and the pain and screaming subsided. My other eye could open now, and I realized how fucked I was. I lost something. I lost something valuable. I lost my eye.

I tried to translate that. It did not take my collection. It took a piece of me. I didn't know which one was worse.

Then I passed out.

~

I dreamed of white. I dreamed of the white sea and it looked beautiful and I dreamed of pomegranate and apples and I dreamed of oranges that were so juicy coming from the white sea out in the white sea out there with the fruits of labor and I saw her in the deep end and she was eating pomegranate hmmm yum I love it she loves it the waves hit the shore the shore is sand the shore is rocks not white but close but the sea oh the sea is white with oranges and apples and pomegranates and the voice out in the sea says stop it says no it says dont come because I'm not finished and I dreamed myself telling the voice no asking the voice why and why and it said because I had to save them and I said how they said figure it out and they said one must fight in order to live nothing comes easy without suffering they said no love comes without loss I said ok they said eat not the pomegranate to live out there I asked why it said go I said ok and the breeze came and I smiled and I looked down and blood dripped and I couldn't see anything and I was falling and I couldn't wake up.

I saw her there, the mare of my dreams. My life. My light at the end of the tunnel.

~

I woke in the basement. I was lying in a pool, of what I was not sure. I did not even try to open my right eye. I knew. My left saw the light, much dimmer now. I smelled of chemicals. I smelled of it. Oh no my friends, this was less than ideal. My left eye could blink and move, so ok. I slowly got up, my right side aching. Everything ached. I felt caked in something. I saw something in the corner where it once was, what it was protecting. A large mirror stood in the corner. My poor knapsack was ruined, its black cloth spread across the cold floor. The beans were opened up, ruined, so was the coloring book. Most of the post-it's were destroyed too, but a wad of maybe ten still survived. It's funny, I couldn't remember why I needed them. I put both things in my mouth, which tasted disgusting, and picked up two pieces of cloth. After struggling for twenty minutes, I was able to tie it around my right eye, and then tied the mirror to my back. I started up the steps, creaking. Nothing came for my screaming. I did not know whether to be delighted or depressed. And so I trusted I knew my way, my gut was usually good with these things, as I staggered in the street, and I prayed to Maybe Celestia that nothing would show up, that everything would be dead like the Skimmer. Skinner. Whatever.

I found the square, I saw Desond, and he was smiling until he saw me. His mouth made a weird “o” shape.

“Holy fuck Octy, wa’ da fuq happned?” He glanced over my back. “Is that a fuqing mirror?”

“Don’t worry Desond. It doesn’t matter,” I said through the items in mouth.

“Octy, ya have black fucking shit all over yaself. What the fuq Octy? What the fuq! Here, take some water.”

“No, Desond, no, not for free. Let me pay for it tomorrow.”

“What are ya talking bout? Fuq? Take it!”

“No.”

“Octy, quit fuqing around, jus take-”

“I SAID NO!”

He was taken aback and looked down sheepishly as I walked on.

“Jeez Octy, wa happened?”

I said nothing, and I knew I was crying this time.

I walked into my theatre and I felt relieved. I felt at home. I put both the notes and mirror next to my bed. I saw how truly horrible Iooked and I wondered why I did not take the water, and I think it’s because it was not mine, and I went to sleep thinking maybe I would give up on taking things from others. I wondered if I owned anything at all.

I Feel Like An Angel

I do not know who I am, I cannot know who I am. I feel like a blurry photo. I cannot fully feel the drop. Not when I think of my face leaving my body, when my mind loses its self-preservation. I pass out. I try not to, I try to stay awake, but I pass out. I simply leave for a land far from here. Where I hear echoes of a love I know not, and she asks for my help. I can’t see her, only reminded that once, I felt something. Something true. Something naked. I sleep in dreams of her, and she helps me awake. I feel nothing anymore when I stare at the void. I feel nothing.

I was so gray—my fur. My eye, my patch, my everything. It was gray, bland. I looked at myself and I looked back at myself and we watched each other and judged each other and I was so gray and it was too. I didn’t want to move because that was me but I wanted to leave because that was me and I thought maybe I didn’t like myself. So this is me. This is what I was. That mirror was so large, so grand, like a portal to a new world and I wished that It could have been that way. This world was mine, and I hated it. Damn, I did.

Wow, I thought, wow. It was all for this

I turned around toward my flank and I saw my flank was filled with scratches, lines that seemed to have healed after a long while. I was shocked, my friends, because I never knew about this. And behind all these scratches and cuts, a small bit of purple shone threw behind the gray marks. Purple. Me? Was I purple?

I smiled now, because my friends, I was beautiful. I had color, I had pizazz! I had character now, I had something no other had. Color. Yes! It was faint, behind all the scratches and burns. But it was there, I was purple!

It looked like a squiggle as if it was curving, so delicate. Curse those marks! I wish I could see myself in full beauty.

I loved myself.

I faced forward once again, and I had a new light. Yes. And behind me, my home opened up. It faced toward my collection, trinkets all silver and gold and shiny and they were wonderful, just wonderful. And I cried now, I felt a tear go down my sullen cheek, wow, everything was illuminated with beauty. My friends, my friends, it shone! It blew itself up. And now I watched this thing, this mirror, oh its beauty!

I felt so happy, I felt so elated, and I looked at myself again. My eyes, my mane my everything, it was wonderful, my gray was unique now. I was proud of it. I closed my eyes, my beautiful eyes, and I opened them and there I was, I was beautiful, I was wonderful. I wanted to hug myself. So I smiled. I smiled so wide and my other self smiled.

I felt everything was right. There I was, and I earned this.

She was like me. I wondered if she was like me. I wanted her to be like me, and to like what I liked, and to do what I did. I wanted somepony exactly like me. I can see her and yes I have a friend and of course, I like them. They are me. We could do a secret handshake. I liked that. I liked that so much, that I wanted to do it.

I raised my hoof now, and Octy follows. So effortless. And I waved it around and again it did so smoothly and it was beautiful. That's me. And I began to squat and she followed. And I blinked and she did the same. Just like me. Just like me. Just like me. And everything felt congealed. Yes, my beautiful trinkets, upon oak floors and the red curtains, all looked amazing and beautiful made like it was brand new. Brand new. I popped my lips and it followed. It was wonderful. It was sweet. I loved tangerines, they were always so sweet. I liked them. I did. I liked them. I liked tangerines, I loved tangerines, I loved them. So sweet. And I smiled now at the mirror. It’s beautiful, my mind is filled with citrus. I remembered. I liked tangerines, I loved them. Mmm. And I smiled, and Octy smiled. And I liked that.

I smiled.

Octy smiled.

I blinked.

Octy blinked.

I opened my mouth.

Octy opened her mouth.

I pursed my lips.

Octy pursed my lips.

I smiled.

Octy smiled.

I frowned.

Octy smiled.

And I looked upon myself, smiling.

It was wide, too wide, and I saw teeth and she angled her head down and her eyes were angled upward. And it looked hateful, and I didn’t think that was me anymore. And I looked and it slowly opened its mouth and it stared at me and my heart stopped unwillingly. It stopped and I couldn't do anything, not even breathe and I liked breathing. And it spoke, but I could not hear. Octy moved her mouth, words failing her. I was in silence. I was scared, my friends.

Soon, I saw in a misty vision, I began to materialize, the creature, the thing, it began to step forth from the mirror, and it advanced upon me. And I was stuck. It was me, it was me, it stood in front of me all of my glory.

“Hey?”

It questioned me, sickeningly, its teeth sharp. She sounded like a little doll, and she smiled, and I was frozen. My friends, I saw her speaking to me.

“Don't you enjoy me?”

I shook my head.

It frowned, disappointed, staring through the mirror, as the air became smelly, it smelled like iron and I thought I would throw up.

“I love what you've done with the place.”

I nodded.

“I know what you like, I know what you see, I know what you desire. I know how lost you are. You drifted away, too far away. You're not even on an island, you're just…nowhere. Nowhere in sight.”

I muttered something, an act that surprised me, sounding like metal grinding. “I uh…what…what are you?”

“You.”

“I-I’m me, I’m me…”

The thing laughed, smiling, and it looked darker now as if it was boiling, growing. It became bloated, and soon it looked barely like its original form.

“What type of sick god lied to you?”

There was no more mirror.

There was no more theatre.

In a space of black, it preyed on me.

“I am so lucky to have found you, my baby, my baby darling girl. You look so beautiful.”

It was freed from its prison, leering at me, as I shrunk, lowest of the low, my heart subsiding, passing on, my mind frozen, my limbs cut, my eyes pooling crimson, as it spoke, a wicked grin filled with pain, it laughed at me.

“What a cruel cruel world. I know what you want to see. I can give you the world, restore you to the gardens, with tea and milk and honey, where the gods play with the devils. Would you like to go there?”

It leaned in. It smelled like gold.

“I can be you, Octavia. If you let me in.”

It scared me, as I felt sweat rolling down my back, as my body began to move within itself, in the expanse of black, where my eyes closed, and I felt something inside of me.

“I can show you music.”

Yearning. I looked at this thing which no longer was a thing, blackness, I was in space. My mother told me about space. I liked the space.

“I can take you to Mars.”

I never liked my mother.

The darkness subsided, and the theatre was returned to my sight. The mirror stood in front of me, and there was me, just me.

I raised a hoof.

Mirror me raised a hoof alongside me.

I sighed.

It did so along with me.

I sat down and it copied my move.

I heard the sound of strings, against my ear, as I looked at my beaten self. I ruined what I had. I hoofed my nose and closed my eyes. A voice, a remembrance of a time before, spoke throughout my body.

The devil tempts you, best not to let it free.

I took the mirror, bringing it to the stage, placing it face down, watching it lie there, wishing to break it, but the voice urged me not to. I began to lie, down, looking at the ceiling. That thing was nothing and yet it was everything about me.

The worst feeling, as I slept, was that I missed its voice. But soon, I knew, I would forget. I looked at my notes and my pencil. It's ok to forget. It's ok. And I slept, with the mirror facing the floor, and my mind shut off.

Upon a hill, there was a house made of brick and wood, with a little chimney that would go choo choo! Plumes of smoke filled the air with the smell of fresh bread, as I ran up the hill to see the perfect house with the perfect door, I entered to see the cottage illustrated perfectly in cobblestone and wood and brick, as the fire burned away, warming the room as I looked at the table too big for me. The kitchen expanded out, where my mother stood in front of the stove, flipping a fish on the frying pan. It winked at me as I went to my mother.

“Octavia, you didn't get any fleas, did you?”

“No mother.”

“Any ticks? Because Flashy Flash’s mother said that those things were really popular during this time, so if you got them, you must let me know. We don't want an infestation.”

“Right Mother, I get it.”

“So?”

“No, I have nothing.”

My mother looked like a creamsicle, looking at me as her eyes widened with love. “Dinners almost ready dear, get your sister from the attic, ok?”

I nodded and looked above her, the attic hanging down, as the stairs descended from an unknown force. My mother motioned me to the steps, as the fish began to laugh and the fire crackled.

“Your sister’s waiting, she was asking for you, wouldn’t shut the fuck up, and kept yapping.”

This was scary because my sister never wanted to talk with me, and my mother sounded stern. She looked annoyed now.

“Get up. Now”

I made my way up the wooden steps, creaking with each step I took. The attic was a large showcase of moldy wood and dead spiders, the smell of mothballs entering my nostrils. The smell of rotting entered my nose. As I stepped into the attic, the door behind me closed furiously, and I was stuck. I pounded on the door, I didn't want to be up here all alone.

“Mother! Let me down! I don’t like this!”

A raspy voice sounded from behind me, toward the window where the only shroud of light entered, and I made my way to this voice. “Hello?”

The voice spoke again, and I saw a dead mouse, brain pooling at the edge of her opened skull, the red blotching its white musty fur, its eyes looking like black saucers, as its pupils edged toward me. Its mouth twitched into a smile.

“You came up for me?”

“Only cause I was ‘supposed to.”

“Right…right.”

“You're dying.”

“You're not asking me if I am, you're telling me.”

“Yes.”

The mouse laughed, and its tail began to wag.

“Sis?” I managed to choke out.

The dead thing nodded “Hmm…”

“Dinner is ready.”

“Hmmmm…”

“Ma said you have to go eat, she said you have to.”

The room got colder as now the room was pitch black, and my sister was not illuminated in white. I felt my hooves touch splitting wood, I felt sweat creep down my back. It looked at me quizically, tilting its head sideways.

“You feel bad for me?”

I shrugged.

“Don’t. There's gotta be something in the attic. Something gotta die. You know?”

I nodded.

“There's got to be a rotten piece of flesh for every dead body, every sad song for a broken heart. God was murdered long ago, and everypony is focused on figuring out who did it. And nopony accepts that this is the way it must be. There is no use fighting against the one constant life brings us. You’re either dead or you're not.”

“Are you dead?”

“I’m dying, yes.”

“Is Mother dead?”

“Who?”

“Mother, is she dying?”

Sis began to laugh, sounding as though every vocal chord was breaking, and the mouse began to inch its way toward me.

“Listen to me. There are things in the woods, in the world, watching you step, watching you eat, watching you sleep.”

“The fleas?”

“They want to be you. They pretend to be what you know. They take the place of friendly faces.”

“Mother?”

The voice gripped me.

“You have no mother. Only fleas.”

And then I awoke.

I awoke amongst my beautiful theatre, the wood of the stage before me, the golden hues of the lights, the curtains shade of red. I came across an object lying down on the stage, and upon further inspection, I saw that it was a mirror. My friends! This made me joyful because I had not seen a mirror in so long.

I was so gray—my fur. My eyes, my everything, it was gray, bland, as I looked at myself and myself looked back at me and we watched each other and judged each other and I was so gray and myself was too. And then behind me, I saw a figure. I turned slowly, quietly, for a wave of nostalgia rolled over me, and as I turned, I saw a ghostly figure at the top of the theatre. A pony. It looked calm and peaceful, and it was because of this I stood still, and was not alarmed. It floated towards me slowly, soon coming to my ear, where I saw the body was white, and the hair was blue. It reminded me of watercolors. It spoke gently to me.

“There is an evil one coming, and there is a grander evil waiting beyond the world.”

It began to emerge into me, and it felt like a warm bath my mother made.

“The Solace Hotel, you will see yourself at the Solace Hotel. 253.”

And one final word before it was gone.

“I love you.”

A beat.

I stared at the mirror now, looking at myself, wondering about the ghoul, how I knew it, and how it loved me.

“I’m pretty.”